Halo: Floodgate
by LoboDiabloLoneWolf
Summary: Warrior. Immortal. Last hope. Hero. Hyper lethal. Cortana's chosen. Reclaimer. Spartan. He is the Master Chief. She will be Noble Six. He will save the human race. And she was the reason he survived the fall of Reach. B312 and 117 have met before.
1. Foreword

**Foreword**

**A note on canon…**

I don't normally do this sort of thing, but I think this time I really need to explain myself (and because I know I'll get at least one person commenting on it and at least one person flaming me for it if I don't). Basically, the Haloverse canon is a _total mess_. It's convoluted and self-conflicting, what with the newer games overwriting the old novels to varying degrees – and the novels' continuity itself being somewhat shot – and what's more, it's really confusing. Well, to me anyway, some of you may disagree.

At first I really did try to do my research so I could get these stories to fit into the canonical timeline, but to be honest, I've just given up on that. I mean, it's virtually impossible when the timeline is pretty much broken in the first place.

So, I've decided on a compromise, and this is the most important detail of this intro, even if you don't read the rest: **this fanfiction uses game canon only**. I'm not entirely sure if this makes it technically an AU or not, but that doesn't matter. The fact is, I'm writing this as though there were no other official Halo literature or media except the games - drawing logical conclusions from the information we get in Halo CE, 2, 3, and Reach, only. Ideas from other Halo mediums will of course be incorporated where applicable, but as a general rule, I'm pretty much disregarding the books and Halo Legends (and Halo Wars since that's apparently non-canonical anyway). However saying that, I will attempt to remain as faithful to the timeline as I possibly can while at the same time trying to make all the individual components work as a whole.

**In a nutshell: disregard everything you learnt from the books, Halo Legends, and anything ****else that didn't come from the games, unless it's otherwise specified and explained within this set of stories.**

Please don't hate me.

PS. Also, if Bungie themselves can play fast and loose with their own canon, I don't see why I can't for fanfiction purposes.

**Lobo Diablo**


	2. The Storm

**Halo: Floodgate**

_Book One of Hyper Lethal_

"…_in a single day and night of misfortune, the island of Atlantis disappeared into the depths of the sea…"_ - Plato, 360 B.C.

**Prologue: The Storm**

The viridian light of his photoreceptor reflected dimly in the curved, semi-transparent front of the stasis chamber, the mistiness of the glass allowing only a foggy green glow to illuminate the occupant within; humanoid, clad in a soft, form-fitting scarlet jumpsuit, the suggestion of dark red hair about her shoulders. The eerie lighting and indistinct impression of her through the frosted glass made it appear as though she were underwater.

An old, drowned corpse, left to rot…

She wasn't dead though – far from it in fact. Since his mistress had tasked him with watching over her and the facility while she hibernated, he'd kept a close tab on her lifesigns; regularly running scans, making certain that she was calm and stable. As always, her vitals were strong and steady, the patterns of her brainwaves suggesting that she was dreaming – though of what, he had no way of knowing.

But he could guess.

Memories of _Before_, when the civilization of his makers in this place had thrived, flourished, prospered, when she had been created, infused with life, educated, and given her primary purpose.

She was only part of the legacy they had left behind, but perhaps she was the most important.

Drifting away from the silent chamber, the Monitor turned his softly pulsing green eye to the surveillance terminals and cycled through the viewpoints scattered throughout the facility. Checking and re-checking security measures and failsafe protocols, as though watching for someone to come or waiting for something to happen, despite there being no logical reason for him to expect anything to break the monotonous routine of so many countless years.

No living thing had entered the installation since the architects themselves had been forced to flee after they were sure their most precious possession was sufficiently protected. Since that time, nothing had moved in the endless corridors of the facility except for the Monitor and his Sentinels.

But despite being fully aware that he was only an AI – albeit a highly advanced one – and that he therefore didn't possess what living organisms might have labelled as _instinct_ or _gut feeling_, in some way beyond his parameters of comprehension, Appetent Fragment sensed that something was coming for the Arc.

He just didn't know yet if that something was good or bad…

**Author's Note**

Not sure I'm ready for this… but here we go anyway.

And so begins my next endeavour in a long-loved fandom of mine. Kinda like Dog of War, this is also just a way for me to test characters and plotlines, while allowing me to explore the rather fascinating Haloverse – and some ancient legends and mythology (which I just love) – and improve my skills of writing 1) battle sequences and 2) more smoothly integrated and believable romances. Will be particularly focussing on the latter as I feel the one in DoW was… a little stilted and tacked on. I'm also going to try and write a Spartan romance – with a pairing I haven't seen yet, so this may be the first of it's kind – which doesn't sacrifice the core of what they are.

Lastly, please, _please_ read the Foreword, otherwise my continuity may be confusing, and also don't hesitate to critique - characterisation in particular.

Wish me luck, guys, I am gonna need it.


	3. Sierra 117

**Chapter the First: Sierra 117**

_May 2__nd__, 2548_

Each unsteady step she took made her wince as pain shot up the left side of her body, stabbing down the entire length of her leg and clawing at her side until she almost couldn't breathe because of it. In the distance, far off gunfire clattered as the battle raged in and above Angelsgate, and when she glanced upward she could see the heavy ordnance spewing from both the humans' anti-aircraft guns and the Covenant Banshees' plasma turrets, stitching the pale skies of Eden with coloured lines of light and fire. The iridescent purple carapace of the alien aerial craft gleamed in the planet's hard sunlight as they swarmed like insects above the besieged metropolis.

However in the district of the Gardens Hotel complex, the battle was already over and a deathly silence had fallen over the war-ravaged buildings and huge square of the plaza. The bodies of the fallen scattered the open space, some Covenant, some human, but all of them no longer anything more than carcases, heaving with black clouds of buzzing flies. Bullet holes and plasma burns marked every surface as multicoloured puddles of blood mingled and dried, staining the stone flags. Battered and bloodstained, thick crimson liquid oozing from the metal shaft impaling her armoured thigh and rolling down her leg to leave a dripping trail in her wake, the Spartan limped past them, skirting the large ornamental fountain in the centre that was cracked and bone-dry, as she headed across the plaza square.

Ahead of her, the Gardens' multi-storey parking lot rose to ten floors, casting a long, dark shadow in the last few hours of daylight. Though still standing, it had been ripped open by the fighting; some parts of it sheared away, collapsed, or torn out completely; creating jagged slopes of debris and chunks of broken concrete around the base of the building, while exposed metal struts, supporting mesh, and rebar jutted out of the broken walls and thrust up from the rubble.

Dragging in a breath and gritting her teeth as she clamped down even more firmly on yet another wave of excruciating agony, the Spartan replaced the DMR she carried onto its magnetic clamp at her shoulder, and determinedly made her way towards the high-rise; it offered a good vantage point over the surrounding area and was relatively defendable, and most importantly, gave her a place to hole up and dig in until backup arrived. Using the piles of rubble and metal bars sticking out of the shattered blocks of concrete, the injured warrior hauled herself up onto the first level of the multi-storey, climbing through a massive hole which had ripped out most of the wall.

Inside the dilapidated structure, the wide, sloping ramps that connected each level made the going easier than the stairs, but even so, by the time she had made it to the one leading up to the fourth floor of the parking lot, the Spartan's legs were shaking so much she could barely stand. She managed to stagger over to the ramp though, finding at least a third of it half-blocked by more tangles of concrete slabs and twisted metal girder – obviously part of the fifth level above which had partially collapsed and slid down the ramp's incline. The clear spaces made it negotiable however, and the Spartan at last clambered through the wreckage.

Like the first level, the front wall of the fourth was also ripped open, offering what would have been a decent view of the city, had it not been half destroyed and in flames. Supporting herself with one hand against the remaining pillars and chunks of fallen masonry, she limped over to a corner that allowed her a wide view out of the torn open wall while at the same time keeping her in cover and out of direct sight of any hostiles that came either up the ramp or crossed the plaza below, and collapsed into it, back against the cold concrete.

Her leg throbbed, and continued oozing blood.

Tugging her DMR once again from its clamp, the Spartan set it across her lap and tapped at the tactical pad on her left wrist, searching for a secure comm. frequency. Most were static ridden, useless and incomprehensible, but some were still operational and hadn't had their encryptions broken.

"This is ONI lone wolf operative Sierra beta three-twelve, requesting immediate assistance and extraction. I have the package, repeat, I have the package and need an extraction ASAP. This is ONI lone wolf operative Sierra beta three-twelve, is anyone receiving me?"

Only white noise answered her, and Spartan B312 let out a breath, grimacing slightly as even just a twitch of the muscle sent spasms of pain through her injured thigh and down her leg. She tried to put aside the pain as her training had taught her, but was only half successful.

The wicked metal shaft of the Brute spike may have missed the vital femoral artery when it had impaled her thigh, but it had definitely ruptured something. Every movement sent the pain coursing through her entire leg, curling up her hip and side, even as blood slowly but steadily leaked from the throbbing puncture wound despite her enhanced coagulation rate. With each soft drip, the puddle of wet scarlet on the dusty floor grew a little larger, and she silently promised herself that if she got through this, there was going to be some serious words had with her ONI handlers.

The SPI-grade armour she was equipped with – even the prototype Mark III and all its upgrades – just wasn't built to handle the brutal punishment of her SpecOps assignments. And she was out of biofoam. Even if it had been a simple matter to remove the spike without inflicting further damage – she was confident she could handle the pain of such an extraction – any attempt without biofoam would only result in her bleeding out faster; lethally fast if she tried to take it out anyway and even just nicked the femoral, leaving an armoured corpse in a lake of her own blood, slumped in the corner on the fourth level of a half-destroyed high-rise parking lot, in a matter of minutes.

_Bleed to death now or later? What a set of options…_

At least with the possibility of a _later_, there was still a chance of backup arriving…

A ping of red on her motion tracker – just one of the perks of the SPI Mark III – signalled that hostiles were on the approach, and her chances of surviving until later suddenly looked rather slimmer than they had a moment before…

The Spartan-III shifted slightly, unable to stop the sharp, breathless sound of pain that escaped her as the metal shaft moved in the meat of her thigh, and pressed her back deeper into the corner as she surreptitiously peered around the remains of a thick concrete wall and exposed metal spars, through the gaping hole which had been blasted in the side of the building. Just as she'd dreaded, three Covenant Elites were scouting the opposite side of the plaza below, maroon armour sleek and polished, all armed with energy swords, two with needle rifles, and the other with a plasma repeater.

She ducked back out of sight, wincing slightly as her leg twinged at even that small movement, and hefted up her DMR, sighting down the scope at one of the Sangheili Zealots. She didn't bother lining up a shot, knowing that even if she scored a perfect headshot, the Zealot's shielding was just too strong. They'd know her exact position before she even managed to drop it…

Glancing down, the Spartan looked at the reason she was in this predicament in the first place, and why she was being hunted by a trio of Zealots; the Forerunner artefact she'd been sent to locate and retrieve, clamped to the magnetic strip at her hip usually reserved for carrying grenades. It looked like a fist-sized sphere of strange, golden metal, engraved with angular sigils and decorated in a manner which, strangely, reminded her of something from ancient Persia or Babylonia. An almost imperceptible light seemed to glow from within it; a pale golden luminescence.

The Spartan couldn't decide if it was actually something of value, or just some kind of glorified mantle ornament.

_I'm going to die for an ancient alien conversation piece._

She smiled slightly at the thought, morbidly amused, before her head snapped up as the three red dots once again flashed up on her HUD, closer now. The Elites were crossing the square, and were heading straight for the parking lot where she'd taken refuge after the simple recon and retrieval mission and turned into a hot zone.

They were following a trail of splattered blood drops.

The Spartan inwardly swore; it wouldn't take them long to converge on her position with a dripping red trail leading them right to it.

_Shoulda brought that sniper…_

Instead, she levelled the DMR up once again, and lined up a shot – at least with it only being a matter of time before they found her thanks to the blood trail, she no longer needed to worry about betraying her location by opening fire.

The bang of the DMR discharging rang out and echoed in the empty square. The rearguard of the trio of Zealots, one of those carrying a needle rifle, staggered sideways as the slug slammed into the side of its head; the impact making the huge alien reel even though the velocity of the bullet itself was dissipated by its shields. Taken off guard, the Sangheili's reaction was slow and sloppy, and before it could recover from the surprise attack, a second bullet had hit, then a third, then a fourth. The third shot took out the shield altogether, and the fourth was an instant kill; finding its mark in the small eyehole of the Elite's helmet.

The other two Zealots roared in fury as their battle brother fell, but instead of charging after the blood trail as the Spartan-III had expected, they scattered and rolled into cover; one crouching behind the damaged fountain, the other taking refuge behind some fallen chunks of the concrete.

Spartan B312 slammed back into the corner before they could work out where she was and panted softly, sweat trickling down her face as pain swept through her like fire at even that small exertion. Despite taking down one of the Zealots, the remaining pair were wary and on alert now, and it wouldn't take them long to pinpoint her position if she tried to keep them pinned down. Though, with one down, the odds were now a little more in her favour.

Until she dared to once again peer around the jagged edge of the blown out wall.

Immediately the Spartan was forced to quickly withdraw back into cover as a flurry of pink crystal needles and bright bursts of liquid plasma peppered her position. Most splashed and shattered against the wall, mere inches from where her head had been a moment before, but a couple of stray rounds clipped her arm, making her shields flare like a beacon.

_So much for staying hidden…_ She thought grimly, almost able to feel her odds of surviving the mission dipping by more than just a few points; the SPI _definitely_ wouldn't be able to stand up long against a barrage of hot plasma or the exploding crystal shards, even with the prototype energy shields it was installed with…

Somewhere below the Spartan heard one of the Elites howl in anger and frustration at the missed kill, and pulled her SMG from the magnetic pad on her uninjured thigh to spray a full clip of blind fire in the general direction of the Covenant soldiers. Even if the artefact she carried was useless, if the Covenant wanted it, they'd have to pry it from her cold dead fingers first…

On her motion tracker, two red dots appeared as the Elite Zealots began a cautious approach and managed to get out of range of either of her guns as they came within the shelter of the high-rise. Unclipping her last frag grenade from her belt, she placed her thumb lightly on the primer, and waited.

Moments later, when she heard the low, warbling speech of the Sangheili race coming from the ramp access to the floor below, she armed the grenade and flung it with all her might. The metal orb clinked as it hit the concrete and bounced down the incline, before detonating with a low, rumbling boom. An Elite screamed in the resulting explosion and the Spartan smiled, though it came out as more of a grimace; she could feel the pain beginning to weaken her, draining her strength.

Her time was swiftly running out.

"_Ghost, do you copy?"_

Though the unfamiliar male voice coming over one of the few functioning encrypted channels was unexpected, it was the use of her call sign that shocked the Spartan into silence; very few people knew it, and fewer used it, and those that did were all covert ONI lone wolf operatives as well. She was so shocked by the voice suddenly speaking in her ear, that she didn't reply until the rich, rumbling baritone repeated the request.

"_Spartan beta three-twelve, please respond, this is Spartan one-one-seven."_

Spartan 117? The Master Chief? As a Spartan-III, the Ghost had of course heard of the Master Chief – she'd more or less been weaned on his exploits and victories against otherwise overwhelming odds during her own training – he was, after all, the one out of all of them that most embodied the propaganda that Spartans didn't die and could not be defeated.

So what was he doing here? The invasion of Angelsgate was hardly a large-scale engagement; the colony world having no particular importance or significance to the UNSC. Not enough to warrant the deployment of such an iconic Spartan and war hero anyway.

"This is Ghost," the Spartan strove to keep her voice steady as another lance of pain shot up her thigh, but the words still came out strained despite her efforts, "I read you, Chief."

"_Status?"_

"Grim, to be honest, sir. I've got the package, but I'm pinned down by Covenant and shot to hell without any biofoam. I could use an assist."

"_That's what I'm here for, Spartan,"_ He sounded almost like he was trying to be… reassuring, which, while just a little strange coming from the war hero, was mostly unsurprising seeing as in general the Spartan-IIs viewed the IIIs, if not exactly as younger siblings, then as still intimately connected to them. _"Activate your ID indicator."_

"Sir, yessir."

The indicator would show up as a nav-point on the Chief's head's up display without betraying where she was to every force in the area – friendly or not – as a beacon, smoke, or flare would have done.

"_I see you, Ghost, ETA seven minutes."_

"Copy that." She whispered, starting to feel ever-so-slightly dizzy as the constant pain continued to sap her energy and made it hard to think straight. How long had she been stuck here, unable to move and slowly but steadily bleeding everywhere?

"_How bad are you injured?"_

She had expected the Spartan-II to close the comm. link between them, but he surprised her again by keeping the line open.

"Nothing serious," she answered, "Except for the Brute spike through my left thigh. I think it missed all the vitals. Can't stop the bleeding though. And I can't move."

"_Just keep it together, Spartan, that's an order. I'm almost there."_

"Yessir."

Another blip on the motion tracker, red, coming towards her from the ramp. The final Zealot. Out of grenades, the Ghost raised her DMR again, firing a warning shot at the ramp access. As she'd hoped, the blip disappeared as the Elite paused. By now though it was probably well aware that she was injured – it wouldn't have surprised her if she'd been told they could smell blood just as well as any shark – and was most likely waiting for her to become too weakened to put up a decent fight.

"Damn Covies…"

"_Four minutes, Ghost."_

"I've taken down two Zealots, but there's still one left, and I don't think I can take him if he gets the guts to come up here."

"_I'll be there before that happens."_

He sounded so damn confident, but she could feel her aim failing as her mind refused to keep working through the pain. It wouldn't be long before the Elite on the floor below started advancing, and got a clear shot… As though on cue, the crackling sizzle of a plasma sword being activated hissed through the air, and a Sangheili in maroon-coloured armour suddenly stepped out from behind the cover of the rubble pile blocking half of the ramp, into the open.

"Finally decide to join the party then, did you?" The Ghost spat defiantly, immediately firing off several rounds. Many of them went wide, and the Zealot calmly deflected the rest with its sword. The few that got past the blade had their kinetic energy absorbed by its shielding.

The DMR clicked. Empty.

The Spartan looked down at the useless gun in horror before jerking her head up towards the Elite again. It stepped closer, warbling low in its throat, taunting, knowing that the armoured soldier sprawled in the corner was unable to run or fight, and was now out of ammunition for one gun and wouldn't have time to reload the other.

An easy kill…

She felt drained to the point of exhaustion and her fingers were numb; she could hardly feel the rifle in her hands. Obviously she was bleeding out faster than she'd thought. The Elite was almost standing over her now, raising its sword to plunge into her chest-

-a yellow dot flashed up on the motion tracker, coming fast-

-and its head abruptly exploded.

Indigo-coloured gore splattered her visor, and the Spartan-III could only blink and stare with momentary incomprehension as the smoking, headless corpse remained standing for several seconds before swaying and finally toppling over. It landed with a thud beside her, twitching slightly before it stilled.

Behind it stood the Master Chief in his pitted and scarred olive-green MJOLNIR, a recently discharged shotgun in his hands. The Ghost could suddenly understand exactly why the civilians – and a good chunk of the UNSC forces – saw the Spartan as less of a man and more of a symbol, a beacon, like something from a myth. Untouchable.

_Doesn't hurt that he's got the whole 'awesome badass hero' entrance down to an art, either…_

Blood loss had to be affecting her thought processes, she decided.

He strode over to the semi-incapacitated Spartan, kicking the Elite's body out of the way before dropping to one knee beside the injured warrior. Unclipping a can of biofoam from his belt, the Master Chief carefully felt around the Brute spike embedded in the Spartan-III's left thigh; studying it for a moment before closing his fingers around it, holding the can of biofoam ready in the other.

"Brace yourself, Spartan."

The warning was barely out of his mouth before he jerked his arm. The spike slid out smoothly and immediately the Chief inserted the nozzle of the can, releasing a stream of biofoam into the wound before it could start bleeding profusely. He watched as the younger Spartan relaxed; the tension the pain had locked into all her muscles finally easing. Once the wound was sealed, the Spartan-II tossed the empty can away.

"Can you stand?"

"I'm… not sure." She responded honestly; the pain had been numbed by the biofoam, and there was probably some kind of stimulant in the coagulant's chemical makeup to keep her moving, but that didn't mean she'd be able to stand under her own power, or run, or fight, or be anything other than a liability that would slow them down.

Unwilling to concede defeat however, the massive Spartan-II tugged her arm around his own shoulders, and stood, hauling her up with him. The Ghost managed to stand, and remain standing, though not without an explosive hiss of pain and leaning heavily against the bigger soldier for a long moment. "I'm not getting anywhere fast," She finally admitted, "You take the artefact, make sure it reaches ONI."

"No."

She turned her visor toward him, the reflective faceplate masking her frown, but he continued before she could argue.

"The UNSC has enough dead heroes, and they need every single Spartan they can get. But if you're giving up now," he looked down at her, shifting his grip so that one arm was around her middle, though now he was only keeping her steady rather than holding her upright, "Then you aren't the Spartan I thought you were."

It seemed he liked surprising her; of all the things she'd been expecting him to say, that wasn't one of them, and a dozen questions immediately sprang to mind. He knew about her? How much did he know? Just the stuff that wasn't covered in black ink? Or did he have the clearance – or the hacking prowess – to get past the ONI censors?

It took her a moment to realise that her head felt clearer; her thoughts once again swift and ordered. Though she could still feel a dull ache in her leg, she knew it wouldn't hamper her now – obviously the stims were starting to kick in. Her questions could wait. She had a mission to complete. She lightly pushed him away, standing without support as she returned the DMR to the magnetic clamp on her back.

"Yessir…"

Though the DMR itself was dry, she had more than enough ammunition for the SMG, as well as a full compliment of ammunition for the powerful M6D magnum holstered on her injured thigh – though she had the distinct impression she'd be needing firing rate over firepower.

The Master Chief watched as she slammed a fresh clip into the SMG, and gave her a run down of the situation as she checked the machine gun's action. "There's an evac point only a couple of blocks away from here, but there's at least a hundred Covenant between us and the LZ. We don't have time to fight our way through, we'll have to sprint it."

"Oh good, I'd hate for it to be _too_ easy…" The female Spartan muttered sarcastically, uncertain if she only imagined him making an amused sound in response as he returned the shotgun to the magnetic clamp on his shoulder blade and switched to an assault rifle.

There was no evidence of it in his voice as he said; "We head straight for the Pelican. Whatever happens, you get that package onboard. Understood?"

She flicked the safety off her SMG, looked at him, and sharply nodded once.

"Understood."


	4. Backseat Driver

**Chapter the Second: Backseat Driver**

_May 2__nd__, 2548_

By now the huge disc of Eden's sun was starting to sink towards the horizon, and, on a planet known for its short sunsets and long warm twilights, it wasn't long before it had slipped behind the Angelsgate skyline.

The skies were still bright though, burning a clear, scorched orange as though they were already on fire, and as the Chief turned away from both B312 and the view of the city through the ripped open wall of the parking lot's fourth floor, the Ghost looked back at the enflamed sky and felt an inexplicable sadness. With the artefact out of the Covenant's reach, the human world of Eden no longer held any value for them; it would only be a matter of time before the invaders withdrew and glassed the entire planet, and then the sky would really be on fire… burning away the city, and the people that fought so desperately to save it and their world, as though they were nothing more than dry paper… Another battle lost, another human colony destroyed, and yet that sun would continue to rise and set, even if nothing survived to see it…

She could already hear the distant sounds of battle steadily fading as the aliens ruthlessly quashed the human resistance…

Realising from his motion tracker that the Spartan-III wasn't following his lead, the Master Chief turned towards her again, and paused. For a long moment he said nothing as he just watched the younger soldier staring up at the evening sky; the fiery sunset reflected in her darkened visor, and the few thick shafts of tarnished golden sunlight that still slanted between the higher skyscrapers – banding the cityscape with wide tracts of brilliant illumination and pitch-black darkness – cast a long shadow out behind her, and gilded her dark grey armour. She appeared almost… ethereal, otherworldly, awe-inspiring… and yet also profoundly sad.

He fleetingly wondered if that was how people saw him…

Finally though, he shook off the feeling and made himself speak – though the vague sense of yearning sadness he still sensed from the other Spartan continued to bother him.

"We have to go."

She didn't look at him. "It's all going to be destroyed," she said in a whisper, "Isn't it?" He was quiet for a few endless seconds before finally answering.

"Yes. There's nothing we can do about it now."

The Chief retraced his steps to stand beside her again, his shadow joining hers and the dying sunlight picking out the bronze tones of his own armour, and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"We have a mission to complete."

Reminding her of her duties reached through her pensive mood, and B312 nodded, finally turning to face him. The sadness appeared to have gone, but he could almost feel it lingering under her returning stoicism.

Silent as wraiths despite their size, the two ONI lone wolves moved away from the view of a city gasping its dying breath, and plunged into the rapidly deepening shadows as they descended the wide, gently sloping ramps that led down into the lower levels of the multi-storey parking lot.

Soon it became too dark to see, and the Master Chief switched to night vision – since activating the twin lights on his helmet would likely betray their position to any enemy units watching – letting his eyes adjust as everything suddenly turned to various shades of neon green and the gathering shadows abruptly receded. Taking point, he led the way into the depths of the gutted building; the slope of rubble and jagged hole blasted into the wall of the first level which the Ghost had used to gain entrance to the high-rise was far too exposed, but the schematics he'd studied revealed a much better solution - a fire escape tucked into the corner of the ground floor, a strong metal door, painted dark green, that exited onto one of the side streets that backed the Gardens Hotel complex.

But to reach it, they first had to clamber through the copious rubble and debris; gutted, blackened shells of vehicles, chunks of concrete from fallen pillars, walls, and the level above, as well as metal spars and support mesh from the same; that almost completely filled the entire ground level. The footing was precarious, especially when the wreckage shifted under the slightest weight and the two warriors were attempting to be as silent as possible, but finally the Chief reached the clear space around the fire exit and, bringing his rifle to bear, nudged the heavy metal door open a crack before peering out into the war-torn backstreet; tracking the muzzle of his gun left and right, up and down in quick, controlled succession as he scanned for hostiles. Finding none he raised a hand slightly to gesture the younger Spartan forward with a double flick-motion of his first two fingers while his mind ran over their options.

Rather than risk going out into the open, they'd have to move covertly through the city, attracting and engaging the Covenant as little as possible. With most of the city's population already evacuated, all that was left was for the marines to withdraw to their various extraction points, and for the two Spartans to deliver the package safely to Halsey…

…the Spartan-III hadn't joined him yet…

Feeling a stab of annoyance, the Master Chief glanced back, fully intending to reprimand the younger soldier for not paying attention to his hand signals, when his comm. link abruptly clicked twice. The silent signal for attention. Turning away from the door, the Chief found that the other Spartan was only a short distance away, silently waving him over – evidently the Ghost had been following him until something in her peripheral vision had captured her attention, and she'd broken off to investigate – and when he reached her, he saw exactly what it was that had caught her interest.

Between the burnt out, stripped husks of a pair of Warthogs, was a beaten up but workable Mongoose.

"Looks like we won't have to sprint after all…" B312's tone was offhand, but the Master Chief could almost feel her grin.

**IOIIOIIOIIOIIOI**

Kig-yar were essentially pragmatic creatures. While the Jiralhanae were just power hungry brutes that would take any excuse to dominate, break, and torture; the Sangheili a warrior society that held battle prowess and the feats achieved in war above all else – to the point of eagerly pitting themselves into the thick of any confrontation with the humans for the chance of gaining honour, glory, and recognition; and the Unggoy too cowardly to either earn respect through courage or stand up for themselves when thrown to the enemy as cannon-fodder – instead stealing shiny trinkets and baubles from the human dead to impress their peers; the Jackals of the Covenant had a strong sense of self-preservation and highly developed survival instincts.

Scavengers by nature, even hunting packs would flee if potential prey fought back and posed a threat to them, and they placed value neither on trophies or accolades attained in battle but on the basic needs for their survival. No self-respecting Kig-yar would pass up the opportunity of a free meal, and being a lone sniper – not attached to any battle group under the command of a self-important Sangheili or cruel Jiralhanae – offered ample time for a quick snack. Which was why the small, shadowed backstreet behind the Gardens Hotel parking lot was silent and deserted except for the single Jackal sniper who had crept down from his perch to paw hungrily through the clothing of a dead human soldier in search of food.

Upon finding nothing edible in the human's pockets however, the Kig-yar instead turned his efforts to attacking the trooper's body armour; tearing through the straps which held the plates of metal in place before ripping open the fatigues beneath. For a moment the alien paused as he inhaled the rich, tantalising aroma of still-warm human flesh, mouth profusely watering as he imagined the exquisite flavour of the meat he was about to sample…

A deafeningly loud, thrumming bellow suddenly roared into life, interrupting the Kig-yar before he could settle down to his meal, and the Jackal raised his bird-like head, cocking it to one side in confusion as the metal door across the narrow street, at the base of the multi-level vehicle hanger, abruptly slammed open and a vaguely green blur shot out of the yawning black opening.

The Covenant sniper barely had time to identify the blur as a small green human vehicle carrying what appeared to be two Demons, one in green-brown armour and the other in dark grey, before it was mulched under the unforgiving tires and chassis.

"Watch out," B312's voice said dryly in the Chief's ear as the Mongoose bounced slightly and splattered the Jackal, "Speed bump."

In the driver's seat, the Spartan-II rolled his shoulders slightly as he realigned the quadbike to go straight again, and grunted in response. "Your knee's digging into my back." He felt the smaller Spartan tighten the grip she had on his armour before shifting slightly, and the pressure on his spine eased.

"Sorry about that."

The Master Chief didn't answer, instead focussing on their surroundings, staying wary and alert, anticipating the Covenant squads that would no doubt be posted near the Jackal sentry. Though this was hardly the stealth operation he'd had in mind for their retreat to the evacuation point, it was faster, and more direct than taking the more covert circuitous route. With any luck, even if they did come across any Covenant, the Mongoose's speed would allow them to get by before being waylaid by enemy soldiers.

Ahead, the back road curved sharply in a blind corner before merging with one of the wide main streets that crisscrossed the city, and it appeared clear of hostiles until the Mongoose skidded round the bend proper and the waiting squad of Covenant came into view. An Elite Minor in glossy blue armour, and a Major in highly-polished red, a couple of Jackals with glowing energy shields, and several milling Grunts, all stationed around two concrete barricades; forming a roadblock in an obvious effort to capture the two Spartans with the package as they tried to reach the evacuation zone.

Instead of swerving down another side street in an attempt to avoid the blockade as the Ghost expected, the Chief gunned the Mongoose's engines and picked up speed, heading straight for the barricades, and the aliens surrounding them.

"Take one of my grenades, throw it into the middle of them. Then activate the shield capsule." He didn't raise his voice, but his tone nevertheless carried the weight of a command, and B312 didn't hesitate or question him.

Again the Spartan-II felt her shift behind him – this time the armoured fingers of her gauntlet groping at his hip for a grenade and small bubble shield generator – before a couple of seconds later one of his own frags sailed over his head; bouncing on the road as it landed in the middle of the pack of Covenant. It exploded before the alien infantry even had a chance to realise what was happening, just as a transparent white-gold spherical shield blossomed around the two ONI operatives and their transport, and the Mongoose shot through the two concrete barriers and the ensuing chaos unimpeded; the hail of plasma and grenades from the surviving Covenant soldiers ricocheting off the geodesic sphere.

Bursting from the resulting fire as the deflected explosives detonated, the Mongoose broke through the half-destroyed roadblock unscathed, engines roaring as it sped down the wide strip of tarmac, heading towards the evacuation point. Still clinging onto the Master Chief's armour with one hand, B312 punched the air with her other fist, crowing.

"They weren't kidding when they said you were lucky, Chief!" Almost immediately though, she winced as pain twinged up her leg and side, reminding her that no matter how well the painkillers and stimulants in the biofoam were working, her injury was still rather severe. She managed to keep the brief flare of pain from her voice however, when she continued: "How much further to the LZ?"

Before he could answer, the loud, distinctive _WHUMP!_ of a fuel rod firing cut him off, and a comet of electric green incendiary gel shot towards them out of seemingly nowhere, hitting the Mongoose's front wheels. The quadbike instantly spun out of control; flinging both Spartans off as the force of the spin pitched the vehicle wildly to one side, causing it to roll several times before finally coming to a stop with a splintering crash, reduced to nothing more than a melted lump of useless, twisted metal.

B312 hit the tarmac hard, but despite the force of the impact driving the air from her lungs and making her injured leg loudly protest the rough treatment, she immediately scrambled to her feet; diving out of the way as a second _WHUMP!_ split the air, and more toxic green incendiary gel splashed on the road's surface where she had been a moment before. Where was the Master Chief? She couldn't see him, though she didn't have time to properly look as she spun around to face the direction in which the assault had originated, bringing up her SMG just as three Brutes leapt down from one of the low buildings bordering the street's sidewalk. One carried the two spiker rifles responsible for the Ghost's wounded thigh, while another carried the fuel rod, and the last, wearing the crested helmet of a Chieftain, wielded a huge, fully primed gravity hammer. The Chieftain grinned horribly.

"You will not escape us a second time, female," it snarled in a rasping growl, "Give us the relic, and we may show mercy and kill you quickly… If not…" Its grin widened, showing a mouthful of fangs stained yellow, "Then I'm sure we can think of a way to amuse ourselves with you before you die a slow and painful death…"

The grey-armoured Spartan neither flinched at the threat nor spoke in response, but kept her gun steadily trained on the three ape-like Covenant. The Brutes only had time to grunt in wicked glee and obvious relish at the thought of the pain and humiliation they would visit upon the defiant female, before roaring in pain and shock as the crumpled wreak of the Mongoose suddenly slammed into them. The fuel rod carrier was instantly crushed, the one with the spiker rifles thrown aside, but the Chieftain managed to leap out of the way, snarling wrathfully as it rounded on the new enemy.

The Master Chief was already sprinting forward, after the wrecked vehicle he had thrown. He used the overturned Mongoose as a platform to launch himself from as he flipped over the half-crushed alien, assault rifle blazing. The stream of hot lead hammered into the Jiralhanae Chieftain. Though its energy shields flared blue-white under the assault, the Brute shrugged off the bullets as if they were mere droplets of water. With an infuriated howl, it charged the Spartan. The Master Chief dodged and swung a fist, catching the alien ape in the muzzle and checking its charge before it could use the gravity hammer.

Meanwhile, B312 faced the Brute with the spiker rifles. The Jiralhanae growled and opened fire, but the Ghost evaded the rods of metal and let loose with her SMG. Her aim was impeccable and the spray of bullets struck home. The Covenant soldier reared back, shrieking, then screamed with unbridled berserker rage. It flung aside its guns, stamping the ground, then lowered its head and flung itself forward on all fours. The Spartan-III danced out of reach of the first pass, firing with her machine gun again, but the Brute proved to be swifter than she had anticipated. It turned sharply and swung out an arm, catching her heavily across the chest. The force of the blow threw the Ghost onto her back and the Jiralhanae immediately pounced upon her, closing its jaws around her helmet in an effort to rip it off entirely.

Each strike of the gravity hammer that he narrowly avoided sent vibrations verging on painful through his spine and skull; the intense buzzing, rumbling crashes making his teeth ache. However the Brute wielding it was also gradually slowing, its breath heaving and snorting with effort as it strove to keep up with smaller, nimbler Spartan. The Master Chief just had to keep out of its reach for a little longer and an opening would eventually present itself. When it did, the supersoldier didn't hesitate and unloaded a clip into the Chieftain's unarmoured side.

Instead of falling, the Jiralhanae uttered another bone-shaking roar and swung the hammer. The weapon connected squarely with the Master Chief's chestplate, throwing him back and through one of the wide windows of the shops lining the street. The glass shattered, crunching as the Spartan landed on the shards, but he was back on feet in a moment, braced for another impact.

It never came.

The Chieftain had put all his remaining strength into that one last swing, and now lay gasping in a crumpled heap in the middle of the road, blood pouring from its wounds. The Master Chief let out a silent breath of relief and clambered back through the smashed window.

And finally saw the Ghost on her back, desperately trying to fend off over a thousand pounds of berserking Brute intent on pummelling her. It had succeeded in tearing off her helmet – almost crushing it in the process – and flung it aside, and now the Spartan-III was using her armoured forearms to protect her head as the alien laid into her with its massive fists, pounding relentlessly like an enraged gorilla.

The SPI was beginning to cave. She could feel the metal plates on her chest and arms buckling, and it was getting harder to breath as they pressed against her ribcage. Struggling to hold off the monstrous ape trying to beat her to a bloody pulp, the Spartan rammed an armoured fist again and again into every part of her enemy that she could reach, but it was to no avail. The alien was just too strong, and so deep in its rage that it barely seemed to register her punches at all. Distantly B312 wondered how long it would take before the Jiralhanae had reduced her to so much mush, and was morbidly impressed that the SPI armour had even lasted this long under such unforgiving punishment.

With a loud, sharp crack, another fist smashed into the side of the Brute's skull, the force of the impact stunning the Covenant soldier so that it toppled to one side, releasing the Spartan-III as it hit the tarmac with a thud. A shotgun blast at close range finished off the Brute, and the body twitched for a moment before finally laying still.

Dazed from her beating, the Ghost blinked as a hand reached down into her view. A black and olive-green MJOLNIR gauntlet. The Spartan-III grasped the forearm attached to that hand, and felt fingers clasp around her forearm in return, before the Master Chief heaved her easily to her feet.

"Are you alright?" he asked, inspecting her chestplate, now riven with cracks, as he held out the SMG she'd dropped when the Brute had tackled her. B312 nodded and accepted the gun before stepping away to collect her helmet – though it was damaged beyond all repair now – while the Master Chief finally put a face to the file. Early twenties. Brown eyes. Black hair in a practical bun, but probably past her shoulder blades when loose. Skin type suggesting Latino or Hispanic ethnic origins, though still paler than usual due to wearing armour most of her adult life.

Those dark eyes met his through the reflective surface of his visor as he said: "You have a knack for attracting trouble."

She flashed him a crooked grin, her teeth appearing very white against her darker skin colour. "You just caught me on a good day."

"Hrm." Once again the Ghost couldn't tell if he was amused or not. "Come on, we're close to the evac point."

The rest of the journey to the landing zone passed in a blur of narrow side streets and alleyways, corners of buildings and piles of rubble, and the sound of the two Spartans' footsteps thundering on the concrete; echoing in the empty spaces of the now almost completely deserted city, bouncing between the few walls that were still standing.

Finally they came to an open square just big enough for a Pelican to land in, and took cover in the bombed out remains of what had once been a café. While the Ghost scanned for hostile infantry through the café's open front with the scope of her magnum, the Master Chief called for their evac.

"This is Sierras 117 and B312, requesting evac from sector three-niner-niner-zero-alpha-zero-two. We have the package. Repeat, we have the package."

The response was immediate; a pilot had been prepped and put on standby to wait for the Spartan's call.

"_We hear you, Chief. Delta 214 is en route to your position. Prepare for extraction, ETA two minutes."_

"Understood, 214. We'll be ready."

"_Delta 214, over and out."_

"How long?" It took a moment for him to realise that without her helmet the Spartan-III beside him – he had trouble thinking of her as a Ghost now that he'd seen her face – would have heard only his half of the exchange.

"Don't worry. They're only two minutes out."

"I'm not worried," B312 murmured, "Just trust me, two minutes can feel like an eternity when you're backed into a corner. I'm not picking up any Covenant now," she glanced at him, "But they'll be coming. If they were desperate enough to send a trio of Brutes _and_ Zealot Elites for this thing," she touched the engraved golden sphere at her hip, "It must be important. Maybe important enough for them to throw everything they've got at us to get it."

Just under a hundred and twenty seconds later, when they could hear the rumbling of the Pelican's engines overhead, the swarm of red dots that the Ghost had predicted flashed up on the Master Chief's motion tracker; all of them rapidly converging on the Spartans' position. From his vantage point above the buildings, the Pelican's pilot could see them coming.

"_Chief, evac zone is about to get hot. Get to a rooftop, we'll circle around for a flyby pickup."_

"Understood, 214."

Above them the Pelican's engines roared as it rose out of range of the approaching Covenant and appeared to fly away.

"What's happening?" B312 sounded wary.

"There's a pack of Covenant on the approach to our position, we'll have to meet the dropship on the roof and make a jump for it…"

The Chief paused as he realised he'd been about to add _use your active camo_, but with her helmet out of commission – the sad piece of crumpled metal now clipped to the small of her back – the Spartan-III wouldn't be able to utilise any of her armour's capabilities. Even her shielding wouldn't be operational…

His mind flashed briefly to her suggestion that he take the artefact and leave her behind, and on its heels came the inevitable image of her corpse; filmed eyes blank and staring and he could almost smell the thick iron stench of blood, could almost _taste it_ on the back of his tongue… The Master Chief restrained a shudder and forced the image away. How many times had his mind conjured up that same image of the Spartans he had known? How many times had he actually seen it? Their lifeless bodies and dead eyes silently accusing him of failure, and later, haunting his sleep with their ghosts…

_No._ The refusal was firm in his mind. He refused to let that happen again, refused to allow another Spartan to die if he could prevent it - even if the Ghost wasn't one of _his_ Spartans, and maybe _because_ she wasn't one of his Spartans; a stranger, but at the same time familiar.

"We'll have to run," he finally said, realising that he'd been silent for several seconds and B312 was watching him. She'd probably picked up on his hesitation. "There." He pointed to the only two-storey structure in the immediate vicinity, a building across the small square which looked like it had at one time been a restaurant. "On my mark."

"Right behind you, sir."

It was the subtle tone of trust in her voice that allowed the older Spartan to put aside his own doubts and regain his focus. Injured, without even a fully functioning suit of armour, she was depending on him to protect her, to get her off this planet.

He would not allow that trust to be misplaced.

"Stay with me…" The Master Chief rumbled, "…Go!"

The two Spartans broke into a run; bursting out from the shelter of the café and sprinting across the open square, dodging chunks of concrete and the twisted metal of outdoor dining tables and chairs, just as the red dots on the Chief's radar came within range. Behind them, an Elite suddenly roared and the air was immediately filled with a flurry of blue and green plasma bursts and the crystalline pink of needler shards.

"Keep going!" The Spartan-II bellowed, his voice barely audible over the onslaught, before he yanked his last grenade from the magnetic strip at his hip, and spun around to lob it back at the pursuing enemy soldiers.

One of the pursuing Elites let out a warbling scream and several Grunts squealed in terror as they dived out of the way before the frag could detonate. The resulting explosion only stopped the hail of plasma and crystal for a few moments, but that was all the two Spartans needed to reach the restaurant; the ornate wood and glass door of the entrance splintering as they crashed through it.

Without checking her pace, the Ghost sprinted for the flight of stairs on the other side of the restaurant's spacious ground floor, the Master Chief at her heels. As she flung herself up the steps, the older Spartan drew his pistol and fired off several shots – headshotting three of the Grunts already waddling quickly through the shattered door, and clipping the tank of a fourth. A violent spout of methane jetted from the ruptured tank, sending the Grunt spinning away, crashing into more of its fellows before exploding.

Racing up the two flights of stairs, B312 reached the rooftop and skidded to a halt. The Chief was beside her less than a second later, already comming the Pelican's pilot.

"We're in position, 214."

Even with Covenant soldiers at their backs and despite their mad dash to the rooftop, his voice was calm and collected.

"_Understood, Chief. We're coming in."_

Only seconds later the Pelican coalesced from the gathering darkness as Eden's twilight became true night, and sped towards them, engines thrumming. Down below, at the foot of the second flight of steps, the voice of an Elite worted furiously before letting loose a screeching wail of pain as the Master Chief sprayed the stairwell with his assault rifle.

"Get on the dropship!" he roared, and the Spartan-III obeyed without protest; spinning on her heel and dashing for the edge of the rooftop just as the Pelican came level with it. Pushing off with one foot on the crumbling edge of the building, B312 leapt into nothingness. For a fraction of a moment the cold night air rushed across her cheeks and roared in her ears, and then with a dull, reverberating clang, she had landed on the dropship's open ramp; crouching briefly so that her legs absorbed the impact and she maintained her balance, before rising and spinning around.

"C'mon, Chief!"

But Covenant were streaming up the stairs now, and the Master Chief could only take one slow step backward at a time to keep his gun steady enough to hold back the flood of aliens.

_He's not going to make it…_

The terrible thought flashed into her mind and lodged there like a piece of metal shrapnel, impossible to ignore and refusing to be silenced, but repeating itself over and over and over…

_He's not going to make it._

Another may have panicked; unable to think beyond the hideous realisation that they were about to helplessly watch someone else die on their behalf; but the Ghost was not so easily defeated. She had been a soldier in this war against the Covenant since being twelve years old. She had been trained by the best to be the best. She was a Spartan.

Wrenching a sniper rifle from the weapons rack next to the open backend of the Pelican, the Spartan-III dropped to one knee and raised the butt of the gun to her shoulder.

"I've got your back, Chief…" she muttered, lined up a shot, and fired.

The high calibre shell left the rifle's muzzle with a flash and a sound like lightning. It whizzed past the Chief's helmet, missing him by inches, and struck the open maw of an Elite wearing the blue of a Minor just as it spread it's mandibles to roar. The Sangheili's head exploded and the corpse fell back, tumbling down the stairway. There was another crack and two Grunts fell as the sniper round passed through both their heads.

No doubt realising what was happening, the Master Chief didn't hesitate in turning and running for the Pelican while the Ghost covered his retreat. The bigger Spartan's footsteps thundered on the concrete, the sniper rifle cracked and banged, Covenant soldiers dropped like sacks of rocks as the bullets entered their eyes and throats, and then the Chief was vaulting off the rooftop.

He landed heavily, but surprisingly gracefully for someone of his bulk, onto the dropship's boarding ramp; standing to his full height and stepping into the passenger bay proper, as the Pelican's engines gunned and the ship zoomed away amid a desperate last volley of plasma and crystal from the Covenant infantry spilling out onto the rooftop the Spartans had just vacated. Shoving his way to the top of the steps, the Sangheili Zealot in polished maroon armour who had been leading the pursuit came out into the open and roared in helpless fury as the human dropship soared out of his reach, taking the Forerunner relic with them…

Standing at the very aft of the bay, holding onto the handle above his head with one hand, the Master Chief stood stoic and impassive, watching the alien soldiers rapidly receding into the darkness as the ramp shuddered closed. Placing the sniper rifle back into the weapons rack, B312 dropped into one of the bay's bucket seats across from him and followed his gaze.

The Ghost's last view of Eden was that of a broken, dying city, gasping its last breath and overrun with Covenant. She brushed the artefact at her hip with gloved fingers, and hoped the sphere had been worth it...

The pilot's voice came over the passage bay's comm. unit.

"_Make yourselves comfortable, Spartans. We'll be entering the upper atmosphere shortly and it's gonna get a little bumpy, so I suggest you strap yourselves in and enjoy the ride."_

The comm. clicked off again and the Master Chief turned towards the seated Spartan-III as he reached up to remove his helmet with both hands. With a sharp click of breaking seals and a hiss of escaping compressed air, he took it off and tucked it under his arm, rubbing his short brown hair with the other hand while the Ghost looked on.

He was not what she expected.

His face was surprisingly kind, though grim and worn, and while he looked younger than his voice suggested – closer to late twenties rather than being nearly forty – his eyes were of a much older man, and profoundly sad. He looked so tired too, not just from the rescue, but weary in mind, body, and soul…

_How many people has he seen die?_ She wondered. _How many friends… brothers-in-arms… even other Spartans has he seen fall?_

But she was still in awe of him, despite all that. He was the Master Chief; one of the Spartan-IIs; the epitome of soldiering ability and the perfect warrior, honed and hardened by a lifetime of war.

Seemingly oblivious to her scrutiny, the older Spartan came over to sit beside her, dropping his helmet onto an empty seat. "You're a good shot." He murmured; voice quieter when not coming through a comm. link or helmet speakers, soft-spoken, as though he didn't raise it often.

The Ghost merely smiled vaguely in response, then paused a moment as an almost awkward expression flickered briefly across her face, before she said quietly; "Thanks… for not leaving me behind." That got his attention and the Master Chief looked at her with a questioning raised eyebrow. "It would have been much easier for you if you'd just taken the artefact and gone… but you didn't… so thank you."

"You're a Spartan," the Chief rumbled, "We don't leave each other behind."

The two soldiers lapsed into silence for a while as atmospheric turbulence made the Pelican judder and shake, but then he felt B312 nudge his shoulder with her own, and looked at her again; knowing that the contact had to have been deliberate.

"My name is Ada."

When he glanced at her sidelong, the Ghost was staring straight ahead, and for a long moment he said nothing. Then his expression twitched in something that could almost have been a smile.

"John."

**Author's Note**

Whew, that was over 2,000 words longer than I anticipated…

**Please read this.** Let's face it, when writing fanfiction for a game franchise, you have to take a couple of things which make games unique into consideration. In particular, the constant development of the medium. Of course graphics and armour customisation fits into this for Halo, but there's also the range of technology and abilities available within the game itself. For example, in the first Halo games, you had a shield generator and your life bar, and occasionally overshield and active camo, and that was about it. By Halo:Reach, set _before_ the original trilogy, you have sprint, active camo with motion tracker disrupter, hologram, armour lock, jetpacks, evade, etc etc etc. So, if I'm going to put a more realistic/logical bent on this, I have to take into account that though these extras have increased with each game, there is no reason why the Halo universe itself didn't always have access to them before they were available to us, the players. Along this line of thought, for the sake of argument, let us say that in this set of stories, the MJOLNIR Mark IV (and SPI) onwards are capable of these abilities, and that a single Spartan has access to all of them at any given time (except jetpacks since that's a piece of equipment we have to put on to use), but that all of them run off the same 'battery' as it were, and that each ability (a) can only be used for a certain length of time, and (b) the battery takes a while to charge up after used by any given ability.


	5. Uncomfortable Silence

**Chapter the Third: Uncomfortable Silence**

_May 3__rd__, 2548_

Standing on the observation deck of the UNSC Marathon-class cruiser, the _Stormfront_, Doctor Catherine Halsey watched through the plated glass surrounding her, as fire bloomed across the surface of the doomed colony planet below and she awaited the arrival of the artefact, and the Spartans whom carried it. Occasionally, one of the three warships providing an escort – the Destroyers _Falchion_, _Halberd_, or _Katana_, which were hidden within the same cloaking bubble as the _Stormfront_ – would pass into view, dramatically backlit by the dying world of Eden.

Halsey, however, was by now immune to such awe-inspiring sights and instead only felt irritation at the delay; she'd received confirmation that the artefact had been secured, but it had yet to arrive, and she was starting to get impatient. She had _told_ Admiral Hudson that Spartan-117 was the best choice for a mission of this magnitude, but he had pulled rank on her and sent his own operative instead.

The Spartan-_III_.

Halsey had come across such Spartans before – if they could even be referred to as such when they were obviously so much _less_ than her own Spartan-IIs – and it never failed to annoy her. The very _idea_ that someone had used _her_ decades of extensive research and meticulous work to create such substandard soldiers was both galling and insulting, and though she didn't know exactly who had approved the decision, who had created them, or who had trained them, she could make an educated guess as to who was responsible.

After the Spartan-IIs had proved to be such effective assets against the Covenant, ONI had wanted more of them… Except they weren't willing to wait for Halsey to go through the rigorous process of vetting the potential candidates before approving them for another class of Spartan-IIs, and so instead they had approached one of her rivals – probably that snake Hudson since his projects always opposed hers for funding – who wouldn't be so thorough, but would produce results faster and cheaper.

And those results had been these… disposable supersoldiers…

From what little information Kalmiya had managed to glean from fragments of over a thousand highly classified communiqués, it seemed that these Spartan-IIIs were recruited as children of various ages from the many war orphanages that had sprung up in the Covenant's wake, augmented via second-rate chemical means that didn't require such a specific set of genetic markers, given the most basic Company-based training, and then sent en masse on large-scale suicide missions.

And it infuriated Halsey. Her Spartan-IIs had been trained for versatility; capable of successfully completing any type of mission. But these… _copies_… were only fit for the one-dimensional purpose of expendable cannon-fodder. ONI had taken the state-of-the-art Spartan warmachine and turned it into an inelegant weapon with all finesse and subtlety of a sledgehammer.

Though, that didn't explain why the select few Spartan-IIIs that Halsey had thus-far encountered in person wore MJOLNIR or upgraded SPI, had been pulled from their Companies, and were either members of small – sometimes only two-man – strike force teams, or lone wolf ONI operatives…

… just like the Spartan-III who had been playing the Admiral's pet grim reaper for the last three of years…

All things considered, Halsey simply didn't trust the Spartan-IIIs; she hadn't spear-headed the Program, she hadn't chosen the candidates, she hadn't overseen their creation or training, and that made them _different_. They weren't _her_ Spartans. Despite that though, from the first time a Spartan-II had met one of their newer counterparts on the battlefield in 2546, they'd felt a kinship with the younger soldiers, because they _were _still Spartans in their eyes, even if they weren't Halsey's.

Even so, that still couldn't change the fact that the Spartan-IIIs were _inferior_. Even Hudson's attempt to outmanoeuvre her and send his own operative to retrieve the artefact had proved that; John had succeeded where the Spartan-III had failed, and that gave Halsey some measure of satisfaction.

The AI podium beside her glowed into life, breaking into Halsey's thoughts as Kalmiya's muted golden-orange avatar appeared.

"They've arrived, Doctor Halsey." She said.

Halsey didn't look at the hologram, but instead continued to gaze out of the window at the burning planet below. "How do they look?" She asked after a moment, keeping her tone cool so as not to reveal her impatience.

"As is to be expected." Kalmiya reported briskly, "Spartan-B312's Semi-Powered Infiltration armour is severely damaged and most likely unsalvageable, and Spartan-117's MJOLNIR will need extensive repairs. It appears he caught a hit in the chestplate with a gravity hammer. Other than that, however, the Master Chief is perfectly functional and requires only a brief medical examination. The Ghost on the other hand, has sustained serious injury to her left thigh which, while she received basic first-aid on the battlefield, will nevertheless need immediate medical attention."

"And the artefact?"

"It appears to be unharmed."

Halsey nodded slowly to herself, feeling quietly triumphant, before giving a response. "Have the Master Chief report to me immediately with the artefact. The Ghost can report to medical."

"Yes, Doctor."

The orange glow in Halsey's peripheral vision evaporated, signalling the AI's departure, and the doctor allowed herself a small, brief smile; her eyes still looking out at what had once been a thriving colony but no longer seeing it. She didn't know how much Hudson knew of the artefact, but that didn't matter.

Halsey would be the one to unlock its secrets, and she would find the Arc.

**IOIIOIIOIIOIIOI**

The medication in the biofoam was starting to wear off by the time the Pelican finally docked with the _Stormfront_, and the Ghost was beginning to limp slightly as the two Spartans disembarked, wincing minutely as every other step flexed her wounded thigh muscle and sent spikes of pain up and down her leg. Walking beside her as they crossed the hanger, shortening his usually long stride to match her shorter pace, the Master Chief glanced sideways at her through the visor of his replaced helmet. He'd noticed the limping despite her valiant attempts to hide it, and he couldn't help but feel a little concerned. Spartan she may have been, but the injury was severe and he knew first hand that Spartans were not invincible, no matter what the newsreels – or the UNSC propaganda – claimed.

He was just considering escorting her to the medical deck before making his report to Doctor Halsey, when the AI podium beside the door they had just come through to exit the hanger flared into life and the doctor's personal Smart AI, Kalmiya, coalesced on the lighted platform.

"Master Chief. Ghost." She nodded to both of them in greeting, "Welcome back. One-one-seven, Doctor Halsey has requested that you report to Observation Deck B immediately to discuss the details of the mission. Beta three-twelve, I suggest you seek immediate medical attention for your injury before it becomes aggravated any further."

Keeping her expression carefully stoic and fighting down the pain as she had been trained, the Spartan-III drew herself up, setting her shoulders and forcing her voice to come out calm and even.

"Inform Doctor Halsey that we're both on our way."

Kalmiya paused, as though surprised, but then she inclined her head, and disappeared from the hologram pad. The Chief angled his helmet towards the smaller Spartan as he looked at her. Though the reflective faceplate of the visor rendered his expression inscrutable, the slight straightening of his back and the sudden stiffness in his shoulders – almost invisible to everyone else – were definite physical cues to his mood for anyone who knew how to read them, especially another Spartan, and the Ghost could tell that he wasn't happy.

"You're injured." He said, as though reminding her.

The Ghost shifted her weight, eyes closing briefly as she drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out slowly. She nodded. Her face looked pale and drawn, but her expression was determined and her gaze steady when her eyelids flickered open and she looked up at him. A faint, lopsided smile played about the corners of her mouth.

"Carried it this far, might as well finish the mission, right?" She said, her tone light, before tilting her head slightly, "Going to order me to medical, Chief?"

The thought had already crossed his mind, but even as she voiced the question, he knew that he could order her until he was blue in the face and it wouldn't make a difference - she still wouldn't do it. And despite her flippancy about it, he knew her refusal was also a matter of pride. She'd retrieved the artefact and, despite her injuries and against all odds, she'd carried it through all the opposition they had faced along the way to get it here. She deserved recognition for that feat.

"Show the slightest sign that you've pushed yourself too far, and I'm carrying you to medical." He warned instead.

The Ghost flashed him a swift grin. She was so much more… easy-going than the other Spartans he had known, the Chief thought as he nodded and the pair of them headed towards the elevators that would take them up to the observation decks. Her manner of talking, her expressions, even the way she moved, it was all so much less guarded than any other Spartan he had worked with before. He wondered if all Spartan-IIIs were like this, or if the trait was uniquely hers. Either way, he found himself… fascinated by her; so familiar, yet so different…

Observation Deck B was a room made up almost entirely of reinforced glass, which Halsey had apparently commandeered as her workspace judging by the desk, the array of computer terminals, and the paperwork, open files, data-pads and coffee cups that were scattered around the place. Below them, the Covenant had begun to withdraw in preparation for glassing Eden, and it wouldn't be long before the _Stormfront_ and its escort beat a hasty retreat as well, despite being cloaked.

As the two Spartans approached where the doctor stood before the fore glass wall, reading from a data-slate, the Master Chief couldn't help looking past her, to the numerous Covenant warships swarming about the destroyed colony world. No matter how many times he saw it, it still tugged on something inside him, and fuelled his hatred for the aliens who burned everything in their path that was human, simply because their Prophets proclaimed them to be an affront to the Covenant's Gods. Meanwhile, puzzle pieces were slotting into place in the Ghost's mind as some of the questions she had been asking herself were provided with answers.

Halsey was ONI, and likely had the clearance to view her unmarked file. If the Master Chief was her operative as the Ghost was Admiral Hudson's, Halsey would have let him read her entire file, classified or no, which would explain how he knew so much about her. If it was Halsey who had requested the artefact's retrieval, it would make sense for her to send her own Spartan to ensure its safety.

It was suddenly no longer a mystery why the Master Chief had been dispatched to assist her, but it did present a whole new mystery as to why he was acting as Halsey's operative at all. The stories she had been told of his exploits always placed him at the front line of a huge, important battle, with a team of Spartan-IIs under his command…

…why all of a sudden was he working as a lone wolf for ONI?

Halsey finally looked up from the data-tablet she was reading, and put it aside, studying the two Spartans for a moment – the Spartan-III looking much more worse for wear than her own Master Chief – before greeting them both curtly.

"John. Ghost."

The Chief snapped off his usual salute. "Doctor Halsey."

While the Ghost made the same movement, her salute was much more fatigued. "Ma'am."

"I will take the artefact now, beta three-twelve." Halsey said, holding out a gloved hand.

The Ghost limped forward and placed the Forerunner device into her outstretched palm. For a moment the doctor examined the strange metal ball before placing it carefully into the environmentally sealed clear plastic case waiting on her desk. Only when it was secure did she turn back to the waiting Spartans.

"I need a detailed account of the artefact's retrieval, and the opposition you faced whilst retreating to your evacuation point."

It was becoming more and more obvious with each passing moment that the Spartan-III was in pain and her strength was failing, but she nevertheless complied, relaying how she had found the artefact at the location she had been given – a museum of the alien curiosities which had been found on Eden by the setters – and was ambushed by a trio of Brutes, lead by a Chieftain, as she made her way back out. She described how she had managed to lose them in the city, before her trail had been picked up by three Elite Zealots who had proceeded to track her and pin her down in a dilapidated high-rise parking block.

Her voice faded off as she reached the part of the report when the Master Chief had made his appearance, and the Chief seamlessly picked up the thread of the account, briefly describing their run to the appointed evac zone, particularly noting the sheer size of the Covenant force which had been dispatched after them – no doubt to reclaim the orb. All while he talked, he kept glancing at the smaller Spartan beside him. Her expression was tight with pain, and hidden behind his visor, the Master Chief frowned. He knew he should have made her go to medical…

Halsey listened to the report in silence. The concentration of enemy numbers they described were much higher than even she had predicated – which meant that the Covenant leaders were at least partly aware of the artefact's value.

"Then it would seem, three-twelve, that you were fortunate John came to your aid. But tell me about your debriefing prior to the mission. What did Hudson tell you?" Surely the fact that the Spartan-III had insisted upon reporting to Halsey along with the Master Chief instead of having her injuries seen too was irrefutable evidence that Hudson had told her their suspicions of what they thought the artefact actually was, and she was under orders not to let it out of her sight until the very last moment.

Though the Spartan-III's expression remained neutral, her eyes revealed the frown she was containing. "…He told me it was a Forerunner artefact that was of interest and I was to retrieve it for you."

Watching Halsey curiously, the Chief wondered what exactly the doctor had against the younger Spartan, because she clearly had an issue. It may have been simply because the Ghost was the operative of Admiral Hudson – the commanding officer of the _Stormfront_ and a frequent rival of Halsey's for project funding – but for some reason, he didn't think that was it. He remembered how she had never called any of the Spartan-IIs by their numeric designations, always by their names, so why was she calling Ada, _three-twelve_?

"Is that all he told you?" Halsey pressed. She herself hadn't told the Chief any specific details about the artefact, and she watched the Spartan-III with narrowed eyes. Despite the younger Spartan's much more open expressions, Halsey couldn't be entirely sure if she was being completely honest or not.

"Yes, ma'am." The Ghost nodded wearily. By now she was starting to look more like her call sign and the slightest bit unsteady on her feet, and the Chief's concern finally outweighed his usual adherence to duty and procedure; he didn't know if Halsey just didn't like the Ghost because she was Hudson's operative, or because she was a Spartan-III, or for some other reason, but she had suffered for quite long enough.

"Doctor Halsey, permission to make a request?"

She turned to him at last, her expression mildly taken aback. "Yes, John?"

"Ada sustained some serious injuries completing the mission. I'd like to take her to medical."

Halsey's gaze again fell upon the Spartan-III, and she was silent for several moments before finally answering. "Permission granted. Escort three-twelve to the medical deck, then report back to me. We have things to discuss. Dismissed."

Once again the two Spartans saluted, the Ghost appearing to be staying upright through sheer force of will, before they turned and left the observation deck.

Though her limp was more pronounced now and she had obvious difficulty walking, it was only when they were within sight of the elevators again that Ada's wounded leg finally gave out; it collapsed from beneath her so suddenly that she would have fallen, but for the Master Chief's exceptional reflexes. As soon as she stumbled, his hand shot out to catch her, and Ada instinctively latched onto the solid anchor of his armour, squeezing her eyes shut and breathing deeply against the sudden surge of nausea as the world tilted crazily and she fought to stop her legs shaking.

"Are you alright?" the Chief murmured. Ada didn't answer straight away, but after a few seconds, once she'd steadied herself, she opened her eyes and looked up at him before giving a slight nod. When she made to move away though, the Chief caught her wrist. The visor of his helmet slowly and obviously looked her up and down, from her pale, drawn expression, to her trembling legs, and she could almost see his frown.

"I'm fine." She insisted. The Chief made a rumbling _umhm_ sound.

"Of course." He said. Then he looped one arm around her middle and bent his knees slightly to curl the other behind her legs, before smoothly rising and sweeping her up into his arms, already striding towards the elevators. Ada scowled.

"I said I was fine."

"If you were fine, you'd be able to walk."

"Oh _har har_, the man has jokes." She griped, unamused. The Chief didn't answer.

Judging by the group of medics and technicians waiting for them, it became clear when they reached the medical deck that they were expected, and the Master Chief reluctantly handed Ada over to one group while he was seen to by another. He kept glancing at the other Spartan as he stepped into one of the machines that would removed his MJOLNIR, watching as the technicians seeing to her forwent that procedure entirely and went above removing the plates of SPI themselves – apparently it was too buckled and twisted for one of the machines to handle.

The Spartan-III stared straight ahead as they vainly struggled with it, wincing every so often and looking like she was going to throw up.

They still hadn't made any progress by the time the Chief had been stripped of his own outer armour plates, leaving him in the black, lightly armoured subsuit, and the Spartan-II waved his own technicians off as he stepped out of the machine, striding over to Ada who was having increasing trouble staying on her feet. The two technicians trying to remove the SPI saw him coming and immediately stepped aside. The Ghost offered a wane grin.

"Caught me at a bad moment here, Chief."

The Chief made a _hm_ sound, holding her gaze for a moment before turning to look at the technicians. "What's the problem?"

"Short answer? It's trashed." One of them answered, "The release catches are either twisted out of shape or melted together, and the plates are completely warped. I'm surprised that chestplate didn't crush her ribcage."

"She's a Spartan." The Chief said, his tone suggesting that that explained everything, before asking: "Can you get it off?" The technician shook his head vaguely and helplessly shrugged.

"…Yes…" he hedged after a moment, "But it looks like we'll have to cut her out. The SPI's beyond repair, so damaging it further isn't an issue, but it'll still take time."

Again the Chief made a _hm_ sound, folding his arms as he looked over at Ada. She was becoming paler and paler every moment, and he could only guess at the agony her leg must have been causing her now that the biofoam's anaesthetic had more or less completely worn off. Though the foam's coagulant properties would last longer, cutting her out of the armour would cost time that she didn't have if her thigh wound wasn't patched up soon.

"Let me try."

Both technicians looked at him, sure they had misheard, but one look at the Chief's expression and the one who had spoken made a gesture that clearly said _be my guest_, before he and his colleague stood back. The Chief eyed the younger Spartan for a moment, assessing how best to remove the SPI, then met her eyes again.

"This is going to hurt."

Ada nodded exhaustedly as though she had expected as much. "Just do it."

The Chief nodded slightly in return and stepped closer, placing one hand on her shoulder and curling the fingers of the other under the bent metal of her chestplate, the lightly armoured gloves of the MJOLNIR's black subsuit protecting his hands from the sharp edges. Once he had a firm grip, the Spartan-II began to pull, the muscles in his arm flexing as the chestplate bent with a screech of metal and the release catches cracked and snapped. He felt Ada grab hold of his shoulder for support, swaying unsteadily as he systematically dismantled the SPI with brute force, the plates of twisted metal hitting the floor of the medbay with a series of clangs.

Finally, the Chief finished removing the dented pieces of armour and he eyed Ada critically up and down; beneath the metal plating, her dark undersuit was rent and torn in several places, revealing bloody gashes and extensive bruising.

She was far more beaten up then the Chief had expected… and she looked like she was about to collapse.

"C'mon," he said quietly, "You should lie down…" He helped her over to one of the gurneys nearby, and once he'd sat her down on it, the waiting medics descended and the Chief backed up, watching quietly as they began quickly and efficiently cutting away Ada's subsuit. Her coppery skin was mottled with bruises, frequently interrupted by contusions, and the wound in her thigh was a mangled mess. She'd heal, of course, but it would take time. The Chief didn't know exactly how the newer generation of Spartans differed from their predecessors; for all he knew, the Ghost could recuperate faster than he could.

Satisfied that the younger Spartan was being looked after, the Chief allowed the technicians to resume removing his MJOLNIR, and it wasn't long before he was out of the black underweave; swapping the armour for Spartan fatigues which were readily identifiable by their dark green colour and the bronze Spartan eagle patch on the breast and shoulder. One of the medics came over to assess the injuries inflicted by the Brute's gravity hammer, but after only a brief examination surmised that the Chief's shields and chestplate had absorbed much of the blow, leaving his chest only superficially bruised.

"Just try not to take any more heavy hits there for a while, and you should be fine."

The Chief nodded, pulling on his fatigue shirt and rising from the gurney he'd sat on while being examined. Halsey was waiting for him. With one last lingering glance at the other Spartan still being cut out of her undersuit, he left the medbay and headed back to Observation Deck B. The doctor was sitting at her desk with a new mug of coffee, peering over the rim at another data-tablet, when the Chief arrived. Behind her, through the transparent shield, Covenant ships swarmed around the planet as Eden was glassed. The Chief's insides clenched, but he forced back the feeling and stood to attention, saluting smartly.

"You asked to see me, Doctor Halsey."

Halsey looked up from her data-slate and smiled, she set the slate and the coffee mug aside and rose from her seat, moving around to the front of the desk and perching on the edge.

"John, yes, I wanted to ask you about Spartan beta three-twelve. What do you know of her?"

For a moment the Chief looked at her blankly, not knowing what to say; almost everything he knew about Ada was what he'd read in the file Halsey had shown him. Recruited at twelve years old, Ada hadn't been picked up from a war orphanage like so many of the other Spartan-III candidates, but had been rescued as one of the few survivors when the Covenant had attacked and destroyed her colony. She'd been at school during the attack, and according to the reports of the marines whom had been sent to engage the Covenant, the twelve-year-old had picked up a pistol from the body of a fallen UNSC soldier and fought back, thus earning her the attention of the Spartan-III Program. Her service record since then had continued to be impressive, with several successful campaigns under her belt, and that wasn't even counting the missions she had completed since being assigned to Admiral Hudson as an ONI lone wolf operative.

"…She's a good Spartan." The Master Chief said carefully, "Determined. Skilled. She has a lot of heart. And her name is Ada."

Halsey raised an eyebrow at that, then in a very deliberate tone asked: "Would you say she matches up to the Spartan-IIs?" Again the Chief didn't answer straight away, not entirely sure where the doctor was going with this line of questioning or what she hoped to gain from it. At a glance, especially judging by her most recent mission to retrieve the artefact, Ada didn't measure up to himself and the other Spartans of his class, but she was a different soldier, a different type of Spartan, who hadn't been trained in the same way as they had or been kitted with the same gear, so a direct comparison seemed unfair… as well as the fact that she'd been sent alone on a mission which, in the Chief's experience, called for at least two Spartans. Considering all that, Ada had done very well.

"Like I said," he replied, voice deadpan, "She's a good Spartan."

Picking up on his subtle refusal to differentiate between the Spartan-IIs and Spartan-IIIs when prompted, Halsey inwardly sighed and took a more direct route. "John… I realise you see her as a fellow Spartan, but the fact of the matter is, neither she nor any of the other IIIs are like you and the rest of the IIs. She isn't one of your Spartans, John. She isn't governed by the same loyalties as you and your Spartans were. She's Hudson's operative. Be on your guard around her."

The Master Chief watched her quietly, keeping his expression carefully neutral; he didn't want to believe it, but Halsey had a valid point. Ada wasn't a Spartan-II, she wasn't one of his. She was familiar. But she was different. Beyond the time they had fought together retrieving the artefact, he knew nothing about her. Not her motivations, nor her goals… not even if she was trustworthy. How did he know she wasn't above turning on her own?

It wouldn't have been the first time…

"I'm always on my guard, Doctor Halsey." He responded at last, nodding sharply once.

"Good." Halsey returned the curt nod, her expression relaxing minutely, "You're dismissed. Keep an eye on the Ghost." If Hudson was planning something, she wanted to know about it.

_I intend to._ The Chief thought. Outwardly he saluted. "Ma'am."

"John."

She watched him leave, then turned to Kalmiya as the AI once again appeared on the softly lit podium, finally allowing a little of her uncertainty to show. "I can't help but be concerned that he doesn't make distinctions between his lost Spartans and these… copies."

"He has always been loyal to you, Doctor." The AI stated.

"Hm…" Halsey murmured, "He has… but he hasn't come into contact with another Spartan since…" she faded off, not needing to voice the rest of her thought.

_Since his old team was killed by another Spartan._


End file.
